Once a Boy Scout
by Oxymoronic Alliteration
Summary: Tim's trip with his scout troop turns deadly, putting one of his scouts in danger. Written for the NFA Secret Santa Fic Exchange.
1. Chapter 1

"Floyd keeps trying to come over to my side!"

"No I'm not! He's lying!"

"Hey, stop trying to take it! It's my game!"

"Ow! Lloyd hit me!"

"He hit me first!"

"I have to go to the bathroom!"

Tim groaned and brought his hands up to his temples. He remembered his mother counting to ten many times before turning around to face him and Sarah during one of their bickering matches. Anytime she got quiet, he knew to be worried. It was the calm before the storm. Now, he suddenly realized why his mother would have to take those precious few seconds before entering the fray.

Luckily, Jason, the only other adult in the van, had much more experience with kids, being a three-time father himself, and took it upon himself to take charge. "Don't worry, guys, we should be there soon. If you guys don't behave, we won't have any s'mores tonight."

The chorus of "aww" from the back indicated that the boys would try to behave…for now.

Truth be told, Tim wasn't even supposed to be there. Between work and his writing, he hadn't had much time for the scouts and had become more of an adjunct troop leader, coming in only now and then to help out with the larger projects. He had been ready for a weekend of rest when the call had come from Jason. Ben, the other man who was to help out on the camping trip, had broken his leg while cleaning out his gutters and they needed two adults. After a little wheedling and pleading, Tim had begrudgingly agreed to help for the one-night trip. It had meant giving up a weekend, but he knew he would feel guilty if he didn't.

The kids were mostly good kids, if a bit rowdy. There were Lloyd and Floyd Robbins, a pair of 9-year-old twins who were almost exact matches. The only way to tell them apart was that Floyd had a scar under his right eye, the result of being pushed through a glass door during one of the boys' playful fights. Tim imagined if they didn't have that difference, the twosome would use their identical looks to get into even more mischief.

Next was Peter Coen, an eight-year-old red-headed kid who was tall for his age and had a thin frame. Of the boys, he was the most interested in nature, never afraid to touch, taste, or experience anything during his time with the troop. He was never without his binoculars, camera, and specimen jar (just in case he found something interesting). Tim could see him having a career in zoology one day.

Then you had Kim Lee, also eight, whose parents had come to the U.S. from Korea when he was a baby. They had signed him up for the WEBLOS, hoping it would aid him in his "Americanization" but he showed little to no interest in nature or camping. He was more interested in video games and his iPod. Tim couldn't remember the last time Kim didn't have his PSP in his hands, trying to get in a game during most of their activities. Troop leaders had confiscated his electronics, but he always seemed to come back with more, like he had a never-ending supply stashed away somewhere.

The last of their party was seven-year-old Riley who mostly kept to himself. The youngest of their group, he was mostly ostracized by the other boys, sometimes even taunted if they didn't think an adult was within ear-shot. Tim didn't know much about him, other than the fact that his parents were both dead and he lived with his grandmother. Riley just scrunched himself up in the nearest corner and waited until she came to pick him up. If he'd ever uttered more than three words, it hadn't been while Tim was around.

"Are we gonna see bears?" Peter asked from the back of the van.

Tim shook his head. "Doubtful. This isn't really the place for bears."

Peter let out a "tsk" in disappointment. "Well, then what's the point of even going?" he grumbled.

"There will be plenty of other things for us to enjoy," Jason assured him.

"Ew! Riley's sucking his thumb!"

Tim glanced in the rear-view mirror and caught sight of a sheepish Riley staring back, thumb securely in his mouth. Floyd—the one who had announced it to the van—was looking on with disgust. "What a baby!"

"Leave him alone," Tim said in a firm voice. He thought Riley was a little old for thumb-sucking, but he wasn't hurting anyone. Besides, he saw a little of himself in the reserved seven-year-old.

They arrived at their campground with little incident and were directed to the space that had been reserved for them. The leaves were starting to change colors and fall from the trees, signaling the end of summer. As they rode by, Peter excitedly pressed his nose to the window, discussing everything he could possibly know about the autumn process, making even Tim and Jason antsy to reach their camping spot and get to work. The kids tended to be more manageable when they each had a task to do.

"The bathrooms and showers are over there," Tim said, pointing to a small building as they drove past. "But don't go alone. Let me or Jason know and we'll go with you."

"Bathrooms are for sissies!" Lloyd said. "My dad said when he was in scouts, they just went in a hole in the ground."

"Well, thank God things have changed since then," Tim muttered.

The clearing was small, but cozy, and only a ten minute walk from the lake where they could try their hand at fishing if they wanted. There was a small picnic table, a large fire pit, and space enough for three tents. It was only a little after noon, so the sun was still high in the sky. With luck, the night would be cool.

"Okay, guys, start unloading things from the back," Jason instructed once they had parked the van. "Floyd and Lloyd, I want you guys to help Mr. McGee start setting up the tents. The rest of us will put away food and sort the perishables from the non-perishables and we can start putting together a lunch."

Tim took one of the smaller tents and began taking out the pieces while the twins did the same with the other small tent. "Who's sleeping where?" Lloyd asked.

"Well, I guess you and Floyd can take a tent, the three younger boys can share the large tent, and Mr. Ferris will share the other small one with me."

"What?" Kim said, looking up from his video game for the first time in an hour. "I am not sharing a tent with Riley! He probably still wets the bed!"

"He's got that stupid stuffed elephant," Peter added. "He carries it everywhere! When we had the sleepover at the community center he wouldn't let go of it."

"Guys, we've only got three tents. Now I want you to stop acting like that and apologize to Riley."

"But we're not babysitters," Kim said.

"He's only a year younger than you are. Stop acting so superior."

Riley, through this, didn't say a word. He watched the argument with rapt attention, clutching his Spider Man backpack to his chest as though it was a shield of armor. Tim managed to catch his green eyes, which immediately went downcast in embarrassment.

"Come on," Peter pled, "we don't want to be stuck with the baby."

"Peter…" Tim began in a warning tone. Then he stopped and sighed. As much as he wanted to make sure these guys got along, he knew pushing them to accept Riley wouldn't help. If he forced them to tent with him, they'd probably resent Riley and take their frustrations out on him. "Fine. You both can tent with Mr. Ferris in the large tent. Riley and I will take the smaller one." Above the boys' heads, he saw Jason nod his approval. "Now stop bickering and get to work. The sooner we've got the tents up and eat lunch, the sooner we can get to the fun."

"That's right," Jason said. "We've got a short hike and some fishing on the agenda. Then we'll gather wood for a fire and maybe we can tell scary stories."

"Scary stories?" Riley asked. His voice made them all jump slightly, as it was the first thing he'd said all day.

"Yeah," Lloyd said as he turned to Riley. A sly grin slipped over his face. "Like Maniac Max!"

"Who's Maniac Max?"

"He's the maniac who lives in these woods. They say he lures kids into the lake and drowns them. Then, he eats their organs 'cuz he thinks it'll make him live forever."

"Yeah," Floyd jumped in, "and he 'specially likes seven-year-olds since they're so young."

Riley's eyes grew wide and he immediately popped his thumb in his mouth.

"I think that's enough about 'Maniac Max,'" Tim said before the twins went any further in their sick tale. "I think it would be better to stick to simpler stories tonight."

"But, Mr. McGee, we need to warn him!"

"You don't need to warn anyone. There is no such thing as Maniac Max or any other monsters in these woods." He turned to Riley and, in his most assuring tone, stated, "There is nothing in these woods that's going to hurt you."

And that was the end of that for the time being.

* * *

><p>The group had just returned from a hike that had taken longer than expected, thanks in part to Lloyd and Floyd reading the map upside down, as well as Peter veering off the track to hunt for bears. By the time they reached the camp site, it was nearing dark and they were all tired and hungry.<p>

"Okay, guys," Jason huffed as he fell onto one of the benches, "let's spread out and look for fire wood. It'll start to get dark soon, so I don't want anyone going out alone. Now, Floyd, Lloyd, and Riley: you guys go with Mr. McGee. Kim and Peter with me. Okay?"

"Maybe we'll run into Maniac Max," Floyd whispered as their group ventured off.

"Floyd!" Tim snapped. He was on his last nerve with the rambunctious boys and their scare antics. The mosquitoes were biting and he wanted to get back to camp as quickly as possible. He'd turn in early and wait until morning. So much for his weekend.

"I've got to go," Riley mumbled.

"What?"

"Bathroom."

Tim winced. "Oh." Most of the boys had relieved themselves during the hike—much to the delight of the twins—but Riley had held back, especially when Peter started talking about poison ivy, ticks, and other creepy crawlers in the woods.

"C'mon, we need to get wood," Lloyd whined. "Just go in the bushes."

Riley shook his head. "No, I want to go in the bathroom."

"You're such a wuss."

"Okay, okay," Tim said. "Lloyd, you stay here and help me look for wood. Floyd, take Riley to the bathroom. Just hurry back, okay?" The sky was already starting to darken. "Don't mess around."

"Fine," Lloyd said in resignation, "Come on, squirt."

After they went off in search of the bathroom, Tim and Floyd kept up the search for firewood, with Floyd grabbing sticks and handing them off to Tim. When ten minutes passed and there was no sign of the boys, Tim began to get antsy. When another five went by with no return he looked warily at the darkening sky above. Finally, a couple of minutes he saw Lloyd quickly approaching…alone.

"Where's Riley?"

"I don't know. I was just fooling around with him. He ran off."

"Ran off?" Tim's heart skipped a beat. "Just what did you do?"

"Well…I kind of waited until he came out of the bathroom and jumped out and scared him. I found this axe near the building and I guess it really scared him. He screamed and ran."

To his credit, Lloyd looked appropriately worried and ashamed, but it didn't stop Tim from feeling the steam rise inside of him. "I told you to knock that stuff off! Now he could be anywhere."

"I'm sorry…I didn't think…"

"No, you didn't," he snapped. "You two go back to camp—straight back there—and wait for Mr. Ferris to get there with Kim and Peter. We'll have a talk later about why this was so incredibly stupid."

With that, he turned and stalked off in the direction of the bathrooms. With luck, Riley had retreated back there and was now waiting for someone to come get him.

* * *

><p>Riley didn't know where he was. He didn't even know how long he had been running. He had just seen the axe and his instincts had kicked in, taking him as far away from it as he could go. Now he was lost and it was getting dark.<p>

He wished he had Mipsy with him. Sure, most of the boys his age didn't have stuffed animals anymore, but somehow having that stuffed elephant with him just made him feel safer, like it was some sort of guardian angel. He didn't mind that the others picked on him for it; he couldn't bring himself to give Mipsy up.

He kept walking, hoping he'd run into someone nice who could help him. Gram Gram had always told him not to talk to strangers, but he figured this was one of those exceptions, like talking to a police man.

As he walked, he could make out the faint sound of voices nearby. That was a good sign…unless it was Maniac Max. Just to be safe, he tiptoed toward the voices and waited to see who it was before announcing himself.

"Look, I have to do what's right!"

"Stabbing your best friend in the back is right?"

"I'm not stabbing you in the back, man! I've given you every chance to come forward."

"It was just a little bit now and then."

"Dude, Connor ended up in the hospital because of you! He'll never serve again either. But you don't care about that."

It was two men, that much Riley could tell. When he got close, he positioned himself behind a tree and peeked out. There was a black pick-up truck nearby and two men standing there, near the creek. One of the men had a buzz cut and was wearing some kind of military uniform. The other man had short hair too, but he was just in jeans and a T-shirt, with a light jacket on, his hands shoved in the pockets. They looked like they were arguing about something and Riley didn't know if he should interfere.

"Do you know what this could cost me, Theo? They'll kick me off the force. Sandy will leave me for sure."

"You did this to yourself! Stop blaming your mistakes on everyone else." The other man—Theo, Riley guessed—tried to step around his companion. "Now, is that what you dragged me out here for or do you actually have something to say?"

"Oh, I've got plenty to say." With that, the man pulled out a gun and aimed it at Theo.

"Whoa! Man, what are you—?" Theo barely had time to finish that thought before the gunman fired three shots from the gun, each hitting him in the chest. He fell back into the water and only let out a short, sputtering gasp before sinking down and becoming motionless.

Riley heard a scream and soon realized it was him. The man turned to face him and their eyes locked for a moment. Riley shivered as he stared into those dark brown eyes. Without another thought, he retreated back into the woods, running even more quickly toward the bathrooms as he had away from them. He heard only one gun shot, but didn't even notice as it whizzed past his ear, embedding itself into a nearby tree. He just kept running, not even bothering to look where he was going.

He had just seen someone get killed. Hadn't he? The other guy had shot that man. And the man had seen him, hadn't he? Would the man try to hurt him? What was he supposed to do now? He didn't want to die.

With a thud, he collided with something…or, rather, someone. A hand grabbed his and he screeched, pulling away as hard as he could. "Let me go! Let me go!" he cried, tears already streaming down his face.

"Riley, it's okay! It's just me!" Tim grabbed a firm hold of him and knelt down beside him. "Look, no one's after you. Lloyd was just playing a joke."

Lloyd? That man back there had not been Lloyd. "No," he whimpered. "There's a dead guy."

"What?"

"A guy shot him."

"Wait, are you saying you saw someone get shot?"

"I…I think so."

This couldn't be happening. Seven-year-olds were not supposed to witness murders, especially not during WEBLOS camping trips. There was nothing about this in the handbook. Tim was momentarily flustered. "Okay, uh, let's get you back to camp and we'll call the police, okay?"

But Riley shook his head."

"We have to call them. What you saw was a crime and it needs to be reported."

Riley muttered something softly.

"What was that?"

"I said 'He saw me.'"

"The shooter?"

He nodded. Tim groaned. This was not good.


	2. Chapter 2

"Trouble just follows you everywhere, doesn't it, Probie?"

Tim grimaced as Tony and the rest of the team passed him. None of them looked happy being called to a scene on a Saturday evening. They should have been off that weekend, but Tim—upon realizing their corpse was a Marine—had instinctively called Gibbs instead of calling straight to NCIS.

"Trust me, Tony, I'm no happier about this than you are."

"Right," Tony grumbled. "I was with a cute little flight attendant who was here until her flight left at ten. You were with a group of boy scouts. Trust me; I got the short end of the stick here."

"How can there be a short end of a stick? Wouldn't both ends be equally long?" Ziva asked as she began unloading the gear.

"Ziva, pictures. DiNozzo, tag the brass," Gibbs ordered without hesitation. "McGee, I want to talk to the one who saw it."

Tim nodded with a grim frown. He had escorted Riley back to the camp. Not wanting to create a fuss with the other boys, he had privately explained the situation to Jason before calling Gibbs and trekking back to the body. Whoever had shot the man was long gone. But if what Riley said was true, the shooter would be back to tie up the loose ends.

"Jason and I thought it would be safer for them to pack up and head to the front office of the camp grounds."

Gibbs turned to Tony and Ziva. "We'll be back. Ducky and Palmer should be here soon. Just point them to the body and let me know what they have to say. If you finish before we get back, track down other campers around the area. See if any of them noticed anything."

When they were in the car, Gibbs began his questions. "What can you tell me?"

"We were gathering wood for a fire. It was me, Riley, and Lloyd and Floyd, the twins, in one group. Riley had to go to the bathroom, so I sent him with Lloyd. I know I should have gone with them, but it was getting dark and I knew we had to get wood. I figured Lloyd was mature enough to keep an eye on Riley."

"How did they get separated?"

"Lloyd…he and his brother had been trying to scare Riley. All of the boys had been. He's kind of an easy target, I guess. Young, impressionable, quiet. Lloyd played a little prank on him, just to scare him. I guess he figured Riley would just cry or something."

"But he didn't."

"No," Tim said with a sigh, "he ran off. Lloyd came back to me and told me what happened."

"And you chewed him out appropriately, I'm guessing."

"I gave him an earful. Then I sent him and Floyd back to the camp while I went off to look for Riley."

"Did you hear anything?"

"I heard him running toward me. He ran into me and…he was just hysterical. It took me a minute to calm him down."

"You didn't hear a gunshot?"

"No, I don't think I did. The guy may have been using a silencer." He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, wondering how a simple camping trip could have gone so sour. He didn't remember the camping trips from his childhood ending with dead bodies.

"Boss, there's more. Riley thinks the shooter got a look at him."

"Thinks?"

"He knows it. Whoever this guy was, he knows there was a witness. He's probably not going to let that go."

"I know that, McGee. We'll put him and his parents in protective custody until our killer is arrested."

"No parents. It's just him and his grandmother."

"Well, we'll make sure they're both watched after."

"I just feel so responsible for him. I was supposed to watching him when this happened."

"You were doing the best you could. I remember being that age. They can be a handful. Now don't blame yourself. The best thing you can do for this kid is focus on finding this guy before anyone else gets hurt."

* * *

><p>When Gibbs and Tim arrived they found that Jason Ferris was in the process of trying to control five rowdy children, all still excited from the recent discovery of a dead body. The twins were theorizing who the killer could be while Kim used his phone to google images of dead bodies for comparison and Peter asked Riley question after question about how the body had looked. Riley hugged his Spider Man backpack to his chest as he ignored the questions. He looked like he wanted nothing more than to sink through his chair.<p>

"Peter, that's enough," Jason said firmly. "I'm sure Riley doesn't want to talk about that with you."

"But it's so cool!" Peter said. "You never get to see dead bodies in Rosslyn. Well, except for funerals."

"Yes, and you should be grateful for that," Tim said as he and Gibbs approached the group. "Guys, this is my boss, Agent Gibbs. He and I will have to ask you all some questions." He gave Riley a pointed look at that. The other boys probably didn't have much to say about the matter, but everyone was a potential witness.

"Do you have a gun?" Lloyd asked, peeking around Gibbs' back as though he suspect a stray firearm to be there. With a grin, Gibbs pulled back his jacket, revealing the gun in his holster there. The boys were thoroughly impressed.

"So you've seen dead bodies?" Peter piped up. "What's the grossest one you've ever seen?"

"None of them were pretty to look at. It never is."

"Have you ever had one with its guts and blood hanging out?"

"Peter," Jason warned, "we need to cooperate with them on this, okay?"

"Are we still staying overnight?" Floyd asked.

"No, your parents will be coming to pick you all up." The boys—save for Kim and Riley—groaned at that. "Well, except for Riley; you'll have to go with Mr. McGee and Agent Gibbs."

"Why?" Riley mumbled as he stuck his thumb into his mouth once again.

Gibbs knelt down so that he was at Riley's level. "Well, seeing as you're our best witness, we'll need you to help us put together a picture of what he looked like. Don't worry, though. We'll take good care of you."

"My Gram Gram…"

"We've contacted her already," Tim assured him. "She'll meet us at NCIS. Once you're finished, you can go with her." He didn't mention the fact that they would be escorted by a couple of agents to guard them on their way to the safehouse where they'd be staying.

Jason stayed with the boys as they were taken one-by-one into a backroom where Gibbs and Tim spoke with them. As predicted, the older four boys had little information to give. Lloyd had noticed a couple of vehicles go by while he was waiting outside for Riley, one a green SUV and the other a black pick-up truck, but had no license plates to give them. Unfortunately, the grounds were open to everyone. If you weren't planning to camp out, you didn't even need to see the front desk about reservations; you could just drive on in, so there wouldn't necessarily be a record of those vehicles and their drivers anyway.

Once the others had been picked up by their parents, Gibbs instructed Tim to take the car and drive Riley back to NCIS. "Take him down to Abby and see if she can put together a composite sketch of what this guy looked like." In the meantime, he'd get a ride back to the body with Jason.

"Am I in trouble?" Riley asked after Tim had buckled him into his seat.

"Of course not. What would make you think you were?"

"When someone goes to a police station it's 'cause they did something bad."

"It's not a police station, Riley; it's NCIS. And sometimes people go there because they saw something bad."

Riley lowered his eyes. "It was really bad," he whispered.

"I know. But it's going to be alright. I promise."

"Everything I do is wrong."

"That's not true, Riley."

"Yeah it is. The other boys told me so. They said it's my fault the trip was cancelled."

"Riley, you can't listen to those guys. You saw someone get shot and you ran. That was the right thing to do."

"I only ran 'cause I was scared. I'm a baby."

"Being scared doesn't make you a baby. Everyone gets scared sometimes. Even me."

"I bet they wouldn't have run."

"You can bet they would have. And if they hadn't they may have gotten hurt…or worse. You did the right thing, Riley, and you're helping us now."

"What if he finds me?" Riley didn't need to elaborate on who 'he' was.

"We're going to protect you and your grandmother. Trust me, Gibbs isn't going to let anything happen to you. He used to be a Marine. And Ziva? She worked for Mossad."

"What's a Mossad?"

"It's…well…let's just say she is really good at protecting people. And then Tony has been in law enforcement longer than you've been born."

"What about you?"

Tim smiled softly and ruffled Riley's hair. "I won't let anything happen to you either. I swear."


	3. Chapter 3

Olivia Jenkins did not look like your typical grandmother. Tall and wiry with well-kept blonde hair, the septuagenarian wore a well-tailored paisley suit with five-inch heels and a rose print scarf wrapped around her head in a Marilyn Monroe sort of fashion. She didn't look like the type to spend her days quilting and baking cookies. In fact, if you erased the wrinkles that had managed to sneak across her face you might swear she was posing for a fashion magazine.

Three times a wife—twice divorced and once widowed—Olivia had done her share of living. She had gotten her start in fashion at a young age, posing for odd jobs here and there. At eighteen she met her first husband, an oil tycoon by the name of Calvin Miller. When they divorced eight years later, she took with her half of his assets and used it to open her own fashion boutique in downtown Washington, D.C. Her second husband, Lou Silverstein, had also been wealthy, mostly due in part to his embezzling. When the authorities closed in on him, he fled the country with his mistress, leaving Olivia fuming.

Last, but not at all least, was Ray Jenkins, an Army Captain, who turned out to be the first decent man in her life. Together they produced one son—Randy—before Ray died of a heart attack in 1984. She went on to juggle her shop with raising her son alone. If there was one word for Olivia Jenkins, it was "tough."

However, tough or not, there was no doubt that she cared deeply for her only grandson. Gibbs met her at the elevator and led her to the bullpen, calmly explaining that Riley wasn't hurt.

"I'm so sorry I'm late," she said. "I was doing inventory at my shop when the call came in. Daisy, the girl at the front desk didn't come and tell me until half an hour later and by then I was knee-deep in a shipment of scarves. If Daisy thinks she's going to be named manager when I retire, she is sorely mistaken," Olivia said in a huff as she removed the scarf from her head. "What's wrong with Riley? He's not hurt, is he?"

"No, ma'am. He's safe and sound."

"Then what is this all about, Agent Gibbs?"

"He witnessed a crime."

"You mean a burglary or something like that?"

"No, ma'am, I'm afraid it was more severe than that. A man was murdered and he seems to have been the only one to see it."

She paled and fell into an open chair, fanning herself. "Oh, no…no, not Riley…where is he?" she asked, looking around frantically.

"He's down in the forensics lab talking with our scientist to put together a sketch. Once he's finished we'll bring him up here."

"And then what, Agent Gibbs? I know there's something you're not telling me."

"We have reason to believe the killer saw Riley."

"And you think the man would…hurt him?"

"If he had to."

Olivia closed her eyes, willing the tears to stay back. "You can't let that happen."

"We don't plan to. You and he will have to be moved to a safe house for the time being."

"Me too?"

"Yes, ma'am. If this man thinks he can get to Riley by hurting you, he'll try it. We don't want to take any chances."

She nodded. "I understand, Agent Gibbs. I…" She stopped, losing the words. "This is the kind of thing you think only happens to other people. You never think it could happen to you or your loved ones. If I lost Riley I…well, he's all I have left in this world."

"Can I get you some coffee?"

"No, I don't drink coffee. It stains my teeth. Some tea, though, would be lovely. Thank you."

He gave her hand a squeeze and headed to hunt down a cup of tea. Ducky would be back by now and usually had some on hand. Gibbs wanted to speak with him anyway about the body. He nodded to the guard to keep an eye on Olivia and headed down to Autopsy.

* * *

><p>"I remember my time spent camping. Not my hobby of choice, but I suppose it helped mold me into the man I am today," Ducky said as he and Jimmy conducted the autopsy.<p>

Jimmy raised his eyebrows in amusement. "You were a boy scout, Dr. Mallard?"

"Heavens no! My father, however, was an avid outdoorsman. He believed it built character and gave a child the right perspective on life. How sleeping outside can give you anything other than bug bites and knots in your back, I'll never know, but I spent one week every summer camping with him from the time I was five until I was thirteen."

"Yeah," Jimmy said with a nod, "camping wasn't really my thing either. My parents tried to put me in the boy scouts, but I got bit by a black widow and had to be rushed to the hospital."

"Well, they took you out over one spider bite?"

"Actually," Jimmy admitted sheepishly, "it happened three different times, and then twice by a brown recluse. I don't know how I managed to attract them, but my parents decided it was a sign that I didn't belong in the scouts. Though, my time spent in the hospital is what got me interested in medicine."

"Yes, our ambitions can often come from the most unlikely of circumstances," Ducky muttered as he peered into the chest cavity. "Ah-ha, there you are," he said, extracting one of the bullets from its place. "Three rounds to the heart."

"Wow! All of them ended up pretty close together."

"Yes, Mr. Palmer. I would say our shooter has experience with firearms. He certainly knew what he was doing."

The "whoosh" of the Autopsy doors barely registered on them before they heard Gibbs' voice. "I hope you've got something for me, Duck."

"I do. At least, I have them for Abigail, whom I'm sure will be able to give you something from them."

"A bullet?"

"Yes. Three, to be exact." He dropped them into the open specimen jars that Jimmy held in front of him. "They were all well clustered in this poor man's heart."

"Hell of a shot," Gibbs muttered. "This was a professional.

"I'm afraid so."

"Got a positive I.D. on him?" The man had been wearing his dog tags when they found him, but they didn't like to jump to conclusions when it came to identities. Dog tags could be wrong, after all.

"Yes; dental records show that this is in fact Corporal Theodore Hartman."

Gibbs nodded. "I'll have someone alert his family. Anything else?"

"Not at the moment. How is the poor boy doing?"

"He's still with Abby and McGee, helping with the composite sketch."

"Yes, well I'm sure he's hoping to forget this traumatic event."

"His grandmother's here. Maybe that'll calm him down."

"Was he hysterical when you spoke with him?"

"No…just quiet. Very quiet. He's young, Duck, but I get the feeling he's more observant than people think. He's very expressive, even if he isn't saying much."

"Does he remind you of someone?" Ducky asked with a budding smile.

The smile was contagious enough that a trace of it came over Gibbs. There was a bit of Timothy McGee in Riley, there was no denying it. "I'm sure McGee sees it too."

"Yes, well I'm afraid I have nothing more to tell you at this point. It seems Corporal Hartman has said all he has to say."

"We'll see what Abby can get from the bullets. Now, do you have any tea on hand?"

"Of course, Jethro, but I never took you as a fan."

"Not for me; for Olivia Perkins, Riley's grandmother."

"Ah, well I'm happy to spare some Darjeeling. Do you know how she takes it?" Upon seeing Gibbs' exaggerated eye roll, he chuckled softly. "Of course. I'll bring a little honey and a little sugar, just in case."

"Thanks, Duck. She's up in the bullpen. Just bring it up when it's ready. I'm sure she could use the company."

* * *

><p>"His nose was bigger…I think."<p>

"You think?"

"I couldn't really see him too good."

Riley was seated between Tim and Abby as they put together a composite of their suspect. His arms were perched up with his elbows on the table and his cheeks were settled atop his fisted hands as he stared at the computer screen. It had taken a lot of coddling to get him to open up, but they were finally starting to get somewhere.

"What about his eyes?" Abby asked.

"Dark. And really narrow."

"Close to his nose?"

Riley shrugged.

"Did he have any marks on him? Like a tattoo or a scar?"

Again, he shrugged.

"Is there anything specific about him that you can remember? Anything that seemed strange?"

Riley considered this, silently sucking his thumb as he thought back to what he saw a few hours earlier. "Um…he was wearing a jacket. It was red and had a turtle on it."

"A turtle?" Tim echoed. "You mean like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?"

"No, it wasn't like that. He was kind of…um…brown. And he had a big 'M' on his chest."

"An 'M'?" Tim furrowed his brow. What kind of turtle had a big 'M' on his chest?

"Testudo!" Abby exclaimed. She exited out of the composite and logged onto the internet.

"The genus of tortoise?" Tim asked.

"No," Abby said as she entered something in to the search engine, "I mean the University of Maryland mascot. He's a diamondback terrapin named Testudo and he has a big red 'M' on his chest."

"You seem to know an awful lot about University of Maryland."

"Yeah, well I briefly dated a guy who was on the football team there." Upon catching Tim's amused look, Abby added with a shudder, "It was a pretty dark time in my life. He had this habit anytime we were in his car where he would—"

"Abby," Tim interrupted, gesturing to Riley.

"Oh, right," she said, her cheeks turning red. "That'll be a story for another time."

She brought up picture results from her search and clicked on the first one. "Is that the turtle you saw on the jacket?"

"Uh-huh," Riley said, nodding his head. "That's the jacket he was wearing."

"Well, at least we're getting somewhere," Tim said with a tinge of optimism in the voice.

"I hope that 'somewhere' will lead us to this guy soon."

Gibbs was in the doorway, holding in one hand his customary Caf-Pow for Abby and, in the other, a soda from the machine, which he handed off to Riley. "Your grandmother's here."

"Can I see her?"

"Sure. We just need to ask you a couple of things first, see if we can track your memory."

"I already told them everything."

"We've got a composite that's good enough for a BOLO," Abby said, "and Riley helped us figure out that our killer was wearing a University of Maryland jacket, so we should check their rosters for students and past students."

"That's good work," Gibbs said as he knelt down to Riley's level. "Anything else you remember?"

"No."

"Nothing? What were they saying?"

"They were fighting."

"About what?"

"I…I can't remember. The dead guy said something about someone being in the hospital."

"And what did the shooter say?"

"He said the other guy had stabbed him in the back."

"What else?"

"I don't remember," he said with frustration.

"Do you remember seeing anything else? Anything other than the two men? Another person maybe?"

"No…but there was a truck."

Gibbs' interest was caught. "What kind of truck?"

"A pick-up truck. It was black."

A black pick-up truck. Lloyd Robbins had seen one pass while he'd been waiting at the bathroom. Gibbs asked if Riley had seen a license plate, but wasn't surprised when Riley shook his head. Still, they had a good amount to go on. Tony and Ziva were upstairs probing into Cpl. Hartman's life. With luck, they'd find the missing link to their killer and Riley and his grandmother would be able to sleep easy that night.

"Can I go see Gran Gran now?" Riley asked.

Gibbs gave him a gentle pat on the head. "Yeah. McGee, you and Riley head up. She's up in the squad room."

"Poor kid," Abby said once Tim and Riley were gone. "I can't imagine seeing someone get shot at that age. You think he'll be okay?"

Gibbs nodded to the composite sketch. "I think we need to find this guy before we can even hope he will be."


	4. Chapter 4

It was an emotional reunion up in the bullpen as Olivia held Riley on her lap, gently stroking his hair while lay his head against her shoulder. She looked over her grandson's head and gave Tim a grateful smile. She had met him only once—one of the few scout meetings he'd attended—but she recognized how protective he had been of Riley.

For Tim, Olivia was like no grandmother he'd ever met. She was nothing like either of his grandmother's. Nana was your typical cookie-baking grandmother who had grown quite plump in her days and hardly ever wore fancy clothing, let alone heels. On the other side of the spectrum was Penny, the activist, who would never wear so much make-up and who had no use for designer clothing.

Still, there was one thing all of these grandmothers had in common: an unconditional love of their grandchildren.

"What happens now, Agent McGee?"

"Well, we hope we'll find this guy soon," Tim said, taking a seat in a nearby chair.

"And if you don't?"

"You and Riley will be taken to a safe house until we do."

Olivia was aghast. "A safe house? You mean we'll be moved?"

"Only for a short amount of time."

She shook her head. "No, that won't do."

"With all due respect, Mrs. Perkins, you really don't have a choice."

"Please, Agent McGee, can't you just guard us in my home? It's a small place on D Street."

"It's best that we have you in a house we know inside and out."

Olivia sighed and stood, holding Riley in her arms. She placed him in the seat, telling him she'd be right back. Then, she nodded her head to the hallway and walked past Tim, indicating that he follow her.

"Mrs. Perkins—"

"Agent McGee, I understand that you all have a job to do and I appreciate that you will all do what you can to keep us safe. But you have to understand something about Riley. I'm sure you've noticed he's far more sensitive than the other boys. I suppose that's part of why I thought he should join the scouts; I hoped it would bring him out of this awkward stage."

Tim nodded, waiting for her to get to the point.

"Riley isn't adaptable. He doesn't handle change very well. If things aren't just right, he can't sleep. He sometimes gets panic attacks. If you move him to an unfamiliar place in the middle of all of this, I'm afraid he won't be able to handle it."

"So why were you shipping him off on a camping trip?"

"I thought one night couldn't hurt, and I certainly didn't expect him to stumble upon a murder. Maybe I was wrong to have him go on the trip, but I can tell you that right now, in this situation, he needs as much normalcy as we can give him. You can fill my home to the ceiling with agents and put bars and planks on the windows for all I care; I just want him to be able to sleep in his own bed, in his own home. It's one of the few comforts he's got right now."

It wasn't all that uncommon for people under protection to remain in their own homes, but it wasn't often preferable. Still, in this case he saw reason enough to let them remain in their home, if for no reason other than to keep them—especially Riley—calm. "I'll talk to Gibbs," he conceded, "but I can't make any promises. And a team will have to inspect your house top to bottom before you and Riley can go home."

She smiled and squeezed his shoulder. "Thank you, Agent McGee. You can't begin to understand how much I appreciate this."

"Do you mind me asking you something?"

"What?"

"Well…what happened to Riley to make him so…" He couldn't even think of the word to explain the thumb-sucking seven-year-old.

"He does seem younger than he is," she said softly. "I suppose it could have been any combination of things. I suppose I coddled him a bit more than I should have, what with him being my only grandchild."

"I'm sure losing his parents didn't help."

"It didn't help either of us. No one likes to lose a child anymore than one likes to lose a parent. We clung to each other after that, the only family either of us knew. Maybe we clung a little too much."

She leaned back against the wall, folding her arms in front of herself. "Riley has always had a certain feeling of responsibility for it all."

"For his parents death?"

Olivia nodded. "They had come over to my house one day a little after the new year. Riley was three, and he was bright and excited about everything. He wanted to explore and see everything. Very precocious.

"When Randy and Marlene, Riley's father and mother, began getting ready to go, he held onto me, telling them he wanted to stay with me. I was flattered and more than happy to keep him over night. They agreed and gave him their goodbyes, telling him they would be by the next morning to pick him up. So Riley and I spent the night talking and reading and watching movies. It was the kind of nights grandparents learn to cling to, before the children grow up too much to want to hang out with them anymore.

"The next morning, we woke up early and decided to make brunch for when his parents got there. It would be a nice little surprise. So we went about making waffles and bacon and eggs and toast. By the time it was all ready, I realized it was almost noon. So I called Randy's cell phone and then, when he didn't answer, I called Marlene's. I figured they were driving and didn't want the distraction."

A few tears formed in her eyes. "Half an hour later, the police showed up at my door. I put Riley up in the guest room while we talked, but I suspect he came down to listen. They told me that Randy and Marlene had been driving this way when an SUV hit an ice patch and lost control. The SUV spun and hit the passenger side, pinning them against the wall of a building. They assured me that both of them had died instantly, that they hadn't suffered. I suppose that was supposed to be a comfort to me, but it wasn't."

"I'm sorry," Tim said softly. "I can't even imagine…"

"It's not easy, Agent McGee. But Riley took it harder. Because they were on their way to pick him up…"

"And he assumes that if they hadn't been going to pick him up, they wouldn't have gotten into the accident," Tim finished. He could see how a child's mind could leap to such logic. It was the kind of logic he often came to as a child…and even now as an adult.

"That's when things changed, when he started panic attacks. I brought him to a child psychologist, but he was resistant. As far as he was concerned, he was his parents' killer. So I held him close, always kept him by my side. I suppose that's what made him the way he is."

"You did the best you could with a bad situation."

"Thank you for that. I appreciate it, even if you're just saying it to make me feel better."

"McGee!"

Gibbs had returned to the squad room and was gesturing for Tim to join them while Tony and Ziva gave their findings.

"Hartman's C.O. described him as a good kid who stayed out of trouble and did his work well," Tony said. "Said he could have gone far in the Corps."

"His fellow Marines were likewise impressed with him," Ziva added. "They had good things to say about him. He didn't drink or partake in their card games, but was really a guy you could depend on."

"So why is he dead?" Gibbs asked.

Ziva cleared her throat. "Well, actually, a couple of them hinted that there had been some sort of, ah, shakeup recently within their group."

"What kind of shakeup?"

"One of the men – a Private First Class Wayne Connor – ended up in the hospital as a result of an ecstasy overdose. He survived, though his enlisted days are over. There has been an investigation into who, if anyone, within the Corps had supplied him with the drugs. A few of the men heard Hartman saying he knew who was responsible and was going to turn him in."

"That's a good reason to want him dead," Tony commented.

"They say who he suspected?"

Ziva shook her head. "No, and it has been an internal investigation. The higher-ups do not want to create a stir if nothing is found to show that one of their men had supplied the drugs."

Gibbs almost let out a curse, but caught sight of Riley just in time. "Tony, you talk to anyone you need to find out who was their lead suspect. Maybe Hartman mentioned something before this guy killed him. McGee, crosscheck names of enlisted Marines with students and alums of the University of Maryland and those registered as owning black pick-up trucks."

"What about me?" Ziva asked.

"You're going to help me escort them to a safe house."

Tim cleared his throat. "Uh, actually, boss, Mrs. Perkins would like to discuss that with you."

"Discuss what?"

"That Riley and I will not be staying in any safe house," she said firmly. "We'll stay at our home. Your agents are more than welcome to stay there as well, but that is where we will be."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow, slightly taken aback by her stubborn tone. "Fine, but you will follow our orders to a T. Is that understood?"

"Of course," she said, hugging Riley close to him.

"Then let's get going. Henson's team will be helping us on this. You two will ride with me. Ziva, you'll be with Agent Miller in a car in front of us; Agents Henson and Krum will be in a car behind us."

"Do you really think all of this is necessary?" Olivia asked.

"We don't know how much this perp knows or what ammunition he's got. At this point, I'd rather not take any chances."

Olivia shuddered silently. The thought of some cold-blooded killer knowing where her grandson was…it was too chilling to even consider.

* * *

><p>Neil Welsh was sitting inside his favorite bar, nursing a beer. The little hole-in-the-wall bar was the kind of place where no one asked too many questions and the bartender kept the beers coming. It was also a pretty good place to score some ecstasy. Not that it mattered much anymore. His shop had closed on that the moment Theo had shot off his big mouth.<p>

They were supposed to have been friends. They both grew up in the same area, were inseparable all through grade school and high school, even enlisted together, both wanting to be Marine snipers. Neil assumed Theo was cool, that he would get that Neil wasn't really doing anything wrong. He was just picking up some cash on the side. A Marine's salary is nothing to write home about and Sandy had been hinting to him that she wanted to get married. He'd had no other choice.

He took long swig, finishing off the bottle. Theo was going to take that all away from him. He would have lost his job, his girlfriend, his friends. He would have been on his own.

The bartender put another bottle down in front of him. Neil responded with a curt nod of thanks.

The kid. That stupid kid. He had seen everything. He'd been standing right there the whole time. How had he not noticed the little punk? Then the kid had run—damn, he had been quick—and that was it. There was a witness out there who could ID him as the killer and there was nothing Neil could do about it. He didn't know who the kid was or where he lived.

Or so he'd thought.

He pulled it out of his pocket and turned it over in his hands, reading it the tag that had been lying among the leaves after he'd lost the little brat on the woods:

_This backpack is the property of Riley Jenkins.  
><em>_If found, please return to:  
><em>_1231 D St. NE  
><em>_Washington, D.C. 20002_

It couldn't have been easier. He'd swung by the house, but it had been dark. No doubt NCIS would be coming by to check it out, make sure it was safe before bringing in the kid and his parents. He'd wait until they'd gone through the place and were content that it was safe. Then he'd be back.

Neil glanced out the window, wondering when it had gotten so dark. A look at his watch told him it was almost 10:00 p.m. He'd be heading out soon, but not to his apartment. If they knew who he was, they'd be there waiting for him. He'd have to stay somewhere else for the night. He didn't have enough money for a hotel room, though. Maybe a hostel somewhere would be cheap enough. Either way, he'd get by.

He was a Marine, after all.


	5. Chapter 5

"There are exactly 328 U of M students and alumni who are or were in the Marines," Tim announced. "Even if you factor out students who are no longer enlisted, female students, and non-Caucasian students, there are still 87 possible suspects. And that's assuming we're even going in the right direction. For all we know this had nothing to do with the drug suspicions."

"If you're looking for sympathy, McWhiner, don't look at me," Tony grumbled. "I've spent the last twenty minutes being passed from department to department, all of them claiming not to know anything about these so-called drug suspicions."

"Who are you talking to now?"

"No clue. I was put on hold…again."

Tim glanced at the clock. By his count, Riley and Olivia should be home by now. He was hoping Gibbs or Ziva would call to give him a SitRep. He didn't like worrying this way. If Riley got hurt, he wouldn't be able to forgive himself. And it wasn't just because he had been one of the two adults responsible for Riley on this trip. It was because he promised Riley he wouldn't let anything happen to him, and Timothy McGee liked to keep his promises.

"So what's this kid's story?"

Tim was pulled from his thoughts by Tony's question. "What do you mean?"

"Well, he seems a little…I don't know…sensitive? Kind of like you, but even more pathetic." Tony seemed to reflect upon this thought, adding, "Of course, he's a seven-year-old. You really don't have an excuse."

"He's just different," Tim replied with a scowl. "He's been through a lot."

"Like what?"

"It's not really any of your business, Tony."

"Fair enough. I just don't want something like this to scar him for life or anything. It's not something any kid should have to deal with, let alone a kid like him."

"He'll be fine. He's tougher than people give him credit for. It's not his fault if people recognize him as an easy target and seek him out."

Tony raised an eyebrow as a smile crept over him. "Are you talking about him or yourself now?"

"Don't you have anything better to do then pester me?"

"Nope. I'm still on hold, remember? And they don't even have muzak or anything, so I have to find someway to entertain myself."

Thankfully, Tim was saved by the bell – in this case his phone. "McGee," he answered, giving Tony a sidelong glare.

"It is Ziva. I wanted to let you and Tony know that we have reached the Jenkins home. Everything looks to be safe."

Tim breathed a sigh of relief. "How is Riley?"

"Fine. He slept the entire way there. His grandmother is putting him to bed as we speak."

"And you've got agents stationed at all entrances?"

"Yes, McGee," Ziva said with a hint of annoyance. "We have done protection details before. We know what we are doing."

"I know, I just…sorry, Ziva, it's just been a long day and an even longer evening. I just want to make sure everything is okay."

"He will be safe, McGee. Have you ever known someone to be killed on my watch?"

"Well, no…"

"And we both know how Gibbs is, especially when children are involved."

That was true. The presence of a child always seemed to push Gibbs to work harder than he already did. If anyone could ensure Riley's complete safety, it was Gibbs and Ziva.

"Gibbs wants to know what you and Tony have found."

"I'm sifting through enlisted U of M students, cross-checking them against DMV records for black pick-ups. No hits yet. Haven't heard from Abby since you left, but last I checked she was running the sketch against pictures in the Armed Forces Database."

"And Tony?"

Tim looked over to Tony who, judging by the daggers shooting from his eyes, had just been put on hold again. "He's tied up in a lot of red tape."

"Tied up in red tape? Is that some sort of sex game, McGee?"

"What? No! I just mean he's getting stonewalled."

"Then why didn't you say that?"

"Look, just tell Gibbs we've got nothing right now."

"He will not like hearing that."

"I know. That's why I'm glad it's you telling him and not me."

* * *

><p>Ziva had to bite her tongue not to respond to Tim's comment. She was giving him leeway since he wasn't usually so snippy. Obviously this case was hitting him harder than other ones, probably because their star witness was someone he was in charge of watching.<p>

She replaced the phone in the pocket of her jacket and re-entered the house. Agent Henson, the large, beefy leader of their partner team, was stationed at the front door and gave her a nod as she walked by. Agent Krum, a slim, blonde woman who had been with the agency only a few short months was standing by the back door, gun in hand. Gibbs and Agent Miller were nowhere in sight. Ziva assumed they were upstairs checking out all the possible ways someone could hope to get in.

Olivia was in the kitchen, setting a tea kettle on the stove. "Agent David," she greeted, "would you like a cup of tea?"

"No, but thank you."

"Are you a coffee drinker like the others?"

"I like tea, but it calms me too much, so I prefer not to drink any while on protection detail."

"Well, I hope you don't mind if I indulge. I think I _need_ the calming."

Ziva nodded and exited into the living area, taking a seat in a chair that would offer her complete view of the kitchen. Olivia emerged minutes later with a teacup that had steam rising from it. She took the seat near Ziva and placed the teacup on the side table. "Have your team members found anything?"

"Nothing at the moment. But they will. McGee is a genius when it comes to tracking things down electronically and Tony has a certain charm about him that allows him to get the answers he needs." She offered a small smile and placed a hand over Olivia's. "We will find this man, Mrs. Jenkins. You and Riley will be safe."

"I've lived through so much, I'd think I'd be stronger than this."

"It is not a question of strength. Your grandson is in danger and you are worried. That is natural."

Olivia shrugged noncommittally and sipped at her tea. Ziva took the quiet moment to look around and study her surroundings. It was a rather small living area with two chairs, a small settee, one coffee table, and one side table. There were two windows, both with the shades drawn, and one standing lamp. The entire space, though, was decorated with pictures, spanning from Olivia's childhood up through the present. There were old black and white photos depicting a young, beautiful Olivia. There were more recent pictures of a happy couple holding a young, smiling baby boy in their arms. There were also pictures of Olivia and Riley together, though neither was smiling in those pictures the way they smiled in the older ones.

"Was this your husband?" Ziva asked as she picked up a framed photo from the coffee table. The man in the photo wore an Army uniform.

"My third husband, Roy" Olivia said. "The only one I really loved, though. I wish I had met him first. Of course, he was the only one taken from me."

"Died in battle?"

"Heart attack. Randy, our son, was only five. He didn't quite understand why his father was no longer with us. I could hardly explain it myself."

"I am sure that raising a young boy on your own was not easy."

"No, but we got by. I'm sure it helped that I still had a hefty sum of money from my first marriage, not to mention Roy's death benefits from the Army, but there were days when I thought I'd never be able to do it. But I go through that and I will get through this."

"Yes, I believe you will," Ziva said with admiration for the woman's determination.

Olivia finished off the rest of her tea and replaced the tea cup on the side table. "Well, unless any of you need me down here, I think I'll go upstairs and take a bath. I've been going since seven this morning."

"Go right ahead. We'll be down here. Let us know if you need anything."

"I will, Agent David."

Gibbs passed Olivia on his way down the stairs, giving her a nod. "Any word from DiNozzo and McGee?" he asked Ziva.

"McGee is still looking and Tony, he said, is being stonewalled."

"I'm sure the Marines don't appreciate us poking our noses around. They've probably got him tied up in a lot of red tape."

Ziva raised an eyebrow. What was it with Americans and red tape? "Abby is still running the composite Riley gave them."

"Riley's asleep," Gibbs said, going into the kitchen to pour himself some coffee. "Agent Miller is keeping watch over him right now. At 0100, you'll trade off with him and I'll trade off with Henson. Hopefully by then, Tony and McGee will be here with more information."

* * *

><p>"You know, maybe we're going about this all wrong," Tim said.<p>

"And what way is that?" Tony asked as he slammed down the phone. All he'd gotten from the phone calls was a headache and the explanation that the Marine Corps. was still looking into the claims and would get back to him as soon as possible.

"Corporal Hartman got to the woods in the killer's vehicle, right?"

"There were no other vehicles at the scene, Probie."

"Ducky didn't find any other wounds on Hartman," Tim continued, "no sign of a struggle. If he went up there willingly with his killer…"

"Then his killer was someone he trusted," Tony concluded. "You think this had nothing to do with the drugs?"

"Maybe, maybe not. I would bet, though, that if he did go willingly with someone he was about to turn in for dealing drugs, he'd have to have a _lot_ of trust in that guy."

"Someone he's known for a long time," Tony said, nodding. "I'll run a quick background, see who he was closest to in the corps."

"I don't think you'll need to, Tony." Abby bound into the bullpen, obviously excited by something.

"Did you get a hit on the composite?" Tim asked.

"Better! The gun used to kill Corporal Hartman was used in a home invasion seven years ago. The owner used it when someone entered his house at night. The robber lived and the gun's owner had to turn it over while they investigated, but he was eventually cleared of any charges. It was pretty clearly self-defense."

"So he's our killer?"

"Doubtful. He died last year."

"So how does this help us, Abby?"

"It helps us, McGee, because the gun was handed down to his oldest son, Neil Welsh. Or, should I say, Corporal Neil Welsh."

"He's a Marine?"

"That he is! And a little searching showed me that his dad graduated from University of Maryland. He played on their football team."

"Too much to be a coincidence," Tony said.

Tim was already at his desk, plugging the information into his computer. "Neil Welsh, 25-years-old. Joined the Marines right out of high school…he and Hartman graduated with the same high school class."

"There's our connection," Tony said, peering over Tim's shoulder.

"He drives a black pick-up and it says that he…oh, God he's a Marine sniper."

The three of them exchanged worried glances at that. Snipers didn't need to get close to their targets to kill them. Given the right clearing and angle, they could do it from up to 2000 yards away.

"I'm gonna call Gibbs," Tim said, snatching up his phone.

"Tell them to stay away from windows," Tony said.

* * *

><p>"Gibbs."<p>

"Boss? It's McGee. We think our killer is Corporal Neil Welsh. Well, possibly ex-Corporal, if he was the one Hartman reported."

"Any leads on where he is?"

"No, not yet."

"Then why are you calling me?"

"Because he's a sniper, boss. I just want to make sure all precautions are being taken."

Gibbs stood up and looked around the home. He had relived Henson's watch four hours earlier and was downstairs. Ziva was upstairs with Riley and Olivia. "All windows and doors are locked and the shades are drawn. Sniper or not, I don't think he'll get a good shot at any—"

His words were cut off with an ear-splitting crash upstairs followed by screams from all directions. He dropped the phone and bound up the stairs, leaving Tim hanging on the other line.

"Boss? Boss!"


	6. Chapter 6

Ziva had her hands full trying to keep a hysterical Riley from running into his grandmother's room. He was wheezing and sobbing as he tried to escape from her arms. "She is fine, Riley," she assured him in the most soothing tone she could muster.

"She was shot!" he screamed. It was quite a shock considering how quiet he had been up until then.

"Riley, you cannot go in there! If the shooter is still in his spot, he could shoot you too!" The moment she said it Ziva realized it wasn't the best way to calm him. He let out another wail and collapsed against her, his body shaking.

_Someone give me an update_, she thought, glancing at the open bedroom door. The lights had been on when Gibbs had rushed in. Agent Henson and his team had followed suit, leaving Ziva to play baby-sitter.

Finally, Agent Krum appeared in the doorway, putting away her phone. "An ambulance is on the way."

"How is she?"

"Still alive," Krum answered, casting a worried glance to Riley. "I'll take him back to his room. Gibbs wants you in there."

Ziva gratefully handed him over and hurried in, hand ready near her gun. Gibbs was kneeling beside Olivia who was still breathing, despite the blood seeping from the wound in her side.

Olivia looked at Ziva when she entered. "Riley?" she asked in a rasping voice.

"He is safe with Agent Krum. He is quite worried about you."

"You're going to be fine," Gibbs assured Olivia. "The ambulance should be here soon."

"I…I just was walking past the window and…I heard the crash and fell back. I didn't even realize I'd been shot."

Ziva looked to the window. The shade was still down, but there was a small hole from where the bullet had torn through. The glass was shattered and pieces of it littered the carpet around the window.

Gibbs stood, letting Agent Henson take over in keeping Olivia still until paramedics arrived. He led Ziva to the doorway. "I want you to call Tony and McGee to get over here."

"They are already on their way. When McGee heard the shot and got no answer from you, he called me. They should be here soon."

"I want them to calculate the trajectory and figure out where this dirtbag was when he made the shot."

"I've got it. Anything else?"

"Yeah, see if there's any coffee left."

Ziva scowled and went down, having nothing else to do at the moment. It was unlikely their sniper would try again at the moment and even less likely that he'd be able to get an angle on the downstairs east side windows, but she kept the lights low and avoided the windows just in case.

* * *

><p>Neil let out a string of expletives as he heard the approaching sirens. No doubt NCIS would follow his shot's trajectory and end up here. Without waiting a second longer, he disassembled his rifle and packed his things. The sun was beginning to peak over the horizon; he would lose his cover of darkness.<p>

He climbed down the fire escape and when he reached the bottom of the ladder, he jumped down. He kept close to the building, lest any of its inhabitants should see him, and stepped out onto the street, not sure what to do now.

He had been waiting there so long, watching and hoping for a break. Then, the lights had come on in one of the rooms and he'd placed a finger on the trigger. When he had gotten a glimpse of the shadow, he'd shot. It was only a split second later that he realized that the figure at the window couldn't have been a little boy. He didn't know who he shot, but whoever it was had gone down.

It was a stupid mistake. He should have had more patience. Now the feds would be stuck to the kid like glue.

He headed east. There was a cafe in Union Station where he could get some coffee and breakfast. Then he could clear his mind and formulate a new plan of action.

* * *

><p>Tim and Tony arrived just as Olivia was being wheeled out. Her eyes were open and she seemed cognizant, but she looked quite frail lying on that stretcher. The oxygen mask obscured most of her face, but Tim caught her eyes and she looked at him pleadingly. <em>Take care of Riley<em>.

"He probably saw a shadow cast against the shade," Ziva explained. "Decided to take a shot."

"Why shoot at the grandma, though?" Tony asked. "He had to have known it would bring even more agents here to watch over Riley."

Ziva shrugged. "Maybe he was not thinking. He could be desperate, mentally unhinged."

"Which would make him all the more dangerous."

"I'm more concerned with how he found Riley so quickly," Tim muttered as he surveyed the chaos.

"Does it matter?" They turned to see Gibbs bounding down the stairs. "The point is, he found him. Now we need to find _him_."

"Yeah, we put out a BOLO, boss," Tim assured him, "and dispatched a couple of agents to his apartment. Where's Riley?"

"Up in his room with Agent Krum. She's keeping him calm." Tim started to run up the stairs, but Gibbs grabbed his arm and pulled him back. "Not now. I want you three to find out where this guy was when he took the shot."

"You think he's still there?"

"No, DiNozzo, but if he's becoming as desperate as you think, he may have slipped up. Go."

It was then that a harried Agent Krum bolted down the stairs. "Is Riley down here?"

"He's not with you?" Gibbs asked.

"I had to go to the head, sir. I thought he would be fine for a moment, but when I came back the room was empty and the window was open."

"Could he have gotten down that way?" Tim asked. Riley certainly couldn't have sneaked out with the house crawling with agents.

"There is a fire escape right outside," Ziva said. "It is possible."

"Damn it! DiNozzo!"

"I'll put out an Amber Alert," Tony said.

"I will search nearby," Ziva added. "Perhaps a neighbor saw him."

McGee didn't chime in with his chosen task. He didn't even know where to begin. Instead, he fell into the chair, head in hands, and let his mind calculate all of the horrid outcomes that could come from this.

"McGee—"

"Boss, I told him I wouldn't let anything happen to him. I promised we would keep them safe. It's like everything that could go wrong has."

"And is this helping? Sitting here like?"

"I don't know what else to do."

Gibbs responded with a quick slap to the back of the head. Tim looked up, slightly stunned. "Boss…"

"You find that bastard, McGee. That's what you do."

"Right." And so he grabbed his gear and started up the computer, hoping – _praying_ – that somewhere along the line Neil Welsh had made a mistake.

* * *

><p>Riley was running along the street, backpack in tow, not certain where he was going. All he knew was that he had to get out, had to get away. He had packed a few clothing items and Mipsy and had gone out the window once the nice lady agent left.<p>

It was all his fault. His Gran Gran had gotten shot because of him. He was the one who saw the murder and got them into this situation. If he hadn't, she wouldn't be hurt.

Everything was his fault. Everyone he loved died.

He could still remember that early winter morning when the policemen showed up at Gran Gran's door. He knew that was bad, especially when he saw her face. She brought him up to the guest room, but he had gone back down to listen. He'd heard them explain to her that his parents were dead, that they had been killed in a car accident on their way to pick him up. It was because of him that they were dead. If he hadn't begged to stay the night, they wouldn't have gotten in an accident. They'd still be alive and they'd still be a happy family.

He was a jinx, that's what he was. Bad things happened wherever he went. Everyone knew it. The kids at school did. The boys in his scout troop knew it. Leave it to him to stumble across a murder and ruin everything.

Everyone's life would be better without him. All he did was cause trouble. That's why he'd run. He would get out of their hair once and for all and let everyone live nice quiet lives. They'd probably thank him.

It was still early in the morning. Hardly anyone was up yet to see him slink by, a child alone on in Washington D.C. That was for the best. He didn't want to call attention to anyone and maybe have them call the police to pick him up.

He wondered what things would be like if his parents were still alive. He wouldn't live with Gran Gran – though he would visit as often as possible. Maybe he wouldn't be such a scaredy cat. He probably wouldn't need his stuffed elephant anymore. He may even have more friends. He and his dad would do the things sons and fathers did: play games, go fishing, watch football games. Instead, he spent most of his time up in his room, just reading. He liked reading, but sometimes he wished for more physical activities. He loved his Gran Gran, but she wasn't the type to play catch.

He had been almost excited when she had signed him up for boy scouts. He thought it would be his chance to make friends and do the kinds of things he never got to do with his dad. But then he'd realized that it was just like school. He was the freak, the outcast. No one wanted him around. So he'd pulled back further into his safe cocoon, putting up the walls and only participating as much as he had to. The scout leaders didn't push him and for that he was grateful.

Riley turned the corner and realized he had been walking for almost twenty minutes. It was much brighter than it had been and there were far more people around.

He looked back and could no longer see his home. All he saw was the rising sun and semi-desolate streets.

Suddenly, he felt very afraid.

* * *

><p>"Boss!"<p>

"You got something, McGee?"

"Neil Welsh's credit card was just used at a café in Union Station."

Gibbs glanced over Tim's shoulder at the computer screen. "Coffee and some breakfast. He'll be there for a while. Let's go.'

"What about Tony and Ziva?"

"They're searching out his sniper nest. We'll have to do this one without them."

Tim grabbed his coat and was just pulling it on when his phone rang. He didn't recognize the number. When he answered, an electronic voice responded. "Will you accept collect call charges from Riley Jenkins?"

His heart skipped a beat. "Yes!" he bellowed, catching Gibbs' attention. The call transferred and at first all he heard on the other end was white noise. "Riley? Riley, are you there?"

"Mr. McGee?"

"Yes, Riley, it's me. Thank God you're okay."

"I didn't know what to do so I called you," Riley explained. The hiccups in his voice indicated that he was probably crying.

"Riley, where are you? We'll come pick you up."

"No. Everyone gets hurt when they're around me."

"That's not true, Riley. Your grandmother is doing fine, believe me."

"I just want it all to be over."

"Riley!" In the background, Tim could hear a call for passengers to board. "Riley, just tell me where you are."

The line went dead.

"Where is he?" Gibbs asked.

"I…I don't know, boss. He was crying and saying that he wants it all to be over and…"

"Focus, McGee. Anything you can get from the phone call?"

"A call…in the background, there was a call over a loudspeaker for passengers to board…" He looked up, eyes wide. "Boss, Union Station. It's about a mile from here. That's—"

"Exactly where Welsh is," Gibbs said. "Let's go."


	7. Chapter 7

Neil sat down with his coffee and breakfast sandwich. The smell of the coffee alone had his sensing perking up. It had been a long day; he'd barely gotten four hours of sleep. At this point he was running on pure adrenaline.

It was early morning and commuters were already starting to trickle in, rushing to catch a train, a metro, a bus, or a taxi. Some took the time to grab a bite to eat, but most seemed far too busy to bother with food.

His gun was packed away and at his feet. If anyone saw it, they would think it was a typical bag, maybe containing some sort of electrical equipment or golf clubs. No one would think he was packing heat, so to speak.

He took a long drink of his coffee, letting the caffeine fill his body. He would go back to the house, see what the situation was. Surely by now they had realized what he could do, even if they didn't know who he was. He would have to hope they would slip up. They couldn't protect the kid forever.

Neil finished up his breakfast and grabbed his things, not sure what to do next. The house was likely a mad house at the moment. He couldn't risk being seen there right now. He'd have to stakeout another spot anyway.

As he stepped out from the café he caught sight of a familiar backpack, one with a Spider Man logo on the back. He stopped in his tracks, causing those behind him to mutter a curse as they hurried around him.

Could it actually be that simple? Surely that kid wasn't the only one with a Spider Man backpack. But something about the child walking a few steps ahead of him looked all too familiar.

He hung back as he followed, trying to get a better look. Whoever he was, the kid was obviously alone. He had no connection to any of the adults around him. Then, the kid stopped and looked to the side, as if trying to decide where to go.

It was definitely the same little punk who had seen him in the woods. Neil couldn't believe his luck.

The kid turned right and started down a row of shops. Neil followed him, trying not to get too close yet. No need to alert the adults around them. Once the kid had broken free of most of the crown, Neil turned to make sure no one was behind them and then he would—

His foot snagged against a display and he fell to the ground in a heap. The storeowner ran out, concerned for both his display and the man who had knocked it over. "Are you okay, mister?"

The display of discount books fell around him and Neil pushed himself to a standing position. Stupid store display. "Yeah," he said with a wince, "I'm fine. I just…" He trailed off as he looked around. The kid was nowhere to be seen. How did the little brat manage to move so quickly?

"Is everything alright?"

"Yeah…did you see where the kid with the Spider Man backpack went?"

The storeowner shook his head. "No, sir. Was he your son?"

"Uh, yeah."

"I'll call security. They'll put out an announcement for him to meet you."

"No," Neil said quickly. "Uh, he and I already have an agreement about where to meet if he gets lost. We'll be fine. If not, I'll notify security."

"If you're certain," the storeowner said dubiously.

"I am, I just need to hurry up before he realizes I'm not with him. You know how kids can be."

At that, the storeowner laughed. "Yeah, I've got two myself."

Neil forced a smile and a nod before running off. Now which way had that damn kid gone?

* * *

><p>Gibbs had sped along the street toward Union Station and had finally pulled into a parking spot near the front. After quickly flashing his badge to the approaching security guard, Gibbs ran across the street with Tim right behind. "You check the east side, I'll check the west," he said before bounding down the escalator to the Metro station. He didn't know if Riley had a metro card, but if he did it's likely he'd try to leave via metro train.<p>

Tim entered the building and ran past the crowds that were already forming. He kept his eyes looking back and forth for any sign of Riley. He couldn't have enough money on him for a train or cab, that much Tim knew. More likely than not he was still somewhere around here.

"Riley!" he called out. "Riley, where are you?"

"Are you looking for someone?" asked a nearby man in a business suit.

"Yes, a little boy named Riley. He's got sandy brown hair and green eyes, a few freckles."

"Does he have a Spider Man backpack?" a woman asked.

Tim's eyes lit up. "Yes! Have you seen him?"

"He was over by the Au Bon Pait a few minutes ago. I asked him if he was lost and he said he was waiting for his dad to come out."

"Okay, thank you!" he shouted over his shoulder as he took off. He had to find Riley before Neil Welsh found him first.

* * *

><p>Gibbs emerged from the underground metro station with no luck. None of the attendants had seen an unescorted little boy that day. His phone buzzed in his pocket. "Yeah, Gibbs."<p>

"Where are you and McGee?"

"Union Station. Riley called from here and Welsh used his credit card here. We need to find them both before they find each other."

"Tony and I found Welsh's likely sniper's nest, but there was nothing to find there. I also got a call from the hospital. They said Mrs. Jenkins got through surgery and is in stable condition. They are hoping for a full recovery, but given her age they must be vigilant."

"You two get down here. We need all the eyes we can get."

"We are on our way."

* * *

><p>It was like he was running in circles. Tim had run past the Au Bon Pait, but there had been no sign of Riley, so he'd kept on in that direction. No one he spoke to had seen a lost little boy.<p>

Why had Riley run off? Did he really believe he was responsible for any of this? Did he really think this was what people wanted? For him to leave? Tim could only imagine what had gone through the little boy's head to make him run away.

He was just rounding past a smoothie place when he caught sight of a very familiar silhouette. Riley was seated on one of the benches near the Amtrak station. His legs didn't quite reach the floor; instead he swung them back and forth as he sat there slumped over.

"Riley!" Tim shouted.

When he looked up, Tim could see that he had been crying. He brought a hand up and wiped away the tear and sniffled when Tim approached him. "Go away," he mumbled.

"Riley, do you know how worried we all were about you? Do you know what could have happened to you?"

"Who cares? Everyone would be better off without me."

"That's not true and you know it. If your grandmother knew you were missing, she would be in a fit."

"She doesn't know," he muttered. "She's dead."

"No, she isn't, Riley. She's doing just fine."

He looked up in surprise. Then a look of uncertainty passed over him. "Are you just saying that to make me feel better?"

"No. I got a call from the hospital. She's going to be okay, and I'm sure she's going to want to see you. You're all she has in the world."

"But it's my fault she got shot."

Tim shook his head and sat beside Riley, gently hugging him. "You can't blame yourself for what happened. You didn't do anything wrong. The only one who did something wrong was the man who tried to hurt you."

"But if I hadn't seen anything, he wouldn't be trying to hurt me."

"Riley, you did a brave thing and you should never feel ashamed about that."

"I just feel like everything I do is wrong. I can't do anything right."

"Yeah," Tim said with a sigh, "I know how that can feel?"

"You do?"

"More than you know."

"But you do everything right. You're one of the tough guys."

Tim couldn't help but smile at that. Leave it to a seven-year-old to think of him as a "tough guy." He could see Tony having a field day with that one. "Maybe, but I wasn't always like this. I was your age once, too, and I remember being scared. I remember thinking I was a screw-up. I remember being made fun of."

"How did you get past it?"

"I don't know…I guess as you get older, you just start to realize that it's okay to make mistakes, that it's okay to be scared sometimes, and that no matter what, the people who matter will always love you, no matter what."

"You think I'll ever be like you?"

"I think anything is possible. You've got more guts than you think. Now, are you ready to go home? We can even go visit your grandmother."

Riley nodded. He even looked like he was smiling a little. It was a relief to Tim, not only that they had found him, but that Riley was beginning to have more confidence in himself. Tim couldn't help but feel that he had done a little for the young boy.

"Don't move."

The words were spoken very calmly by a person behind Tim. He felt something stick into his back, making him tense up. He slowly turned his head to the side and saw the body of a man. The man had his hands shoved in his pockets and the right pocket was the one sticking against his back. He didn't need to see the face to know it was Neil Welsh.

"You're going to stand up," Neil said, "and you and the boy are going to go with me outside. Don't give me any trouble."

Tim stood as he was told, his mind already racing. The moment they were away from the crowd he knew Welsh would put a bullet in both of their heads. He had to protect Riley, not matter what.

He looked down at Riley who seemed to understand the gravity of the situation. He was waiting for Tim to give him instructions on what to do next. If he could just give Riley a head start, he'd have a chance. The minute Welsh shot off the gun the other standers-by would notice.

"Riley, run!" he shouted as he grabbed Welsh's arm behind him. Welsh seemed shocked that Tim was fighting back, but soon regained himself and pulled away, not wanting Tim to gain control over him. He pulled the gun out of his pocket, eliciting gasps from the people around them. Tim grabbed at the gun, but only had time to redirect it before Welsh pulled the trigger. The bang caused the crowd to disperse, people filing out to get out of the line of fire and, hopefully, get help.

Tim fell to the ground, grabbing at his leg where the bullet had hit. The shot hadn't been fatal and he'd probably survive…if Welsh wasn't standing over him, gun poised for one more shot.

If anyone had been watching, they would have sworn that Spider Man flew in at the last moment and kicked Welsh on the side of the head. Instead, it turned out to be Riley's backpack which he swung around, knocking Welsh to the floor of Union Station. The gun flew from his hand, sliding across the floor, and stopping at the foot of a security guard who had run in to assess the situation.

"McGee!"

Gibbs was already running toward them with Tony and Ziva in his wake. Riley knelt beside Tim. "Mr. McGee, are you okay?"

"I will be," he said, though he was breathing hard. "I told you to run, Riley. That was a really stupid thing to do." He took a deep breath before adding, "And thank you for doing it."


	8. Chapter 8

That evening found Tim and Olivia sharing a hospital room. Both were doing fine, despite their wounds. Tim had suffered a gunshot wound to his upper thigh. He'd be able to leave soon, but he wouldn't be doing field work for a while.

Olivia's wound had been slightly more severe. The bullet had almost hit her lung and had done a bit of internal damage to her right side. She'd survive and be released within time, but she would most likely require a cane to walk for the rest of her life.

Riley, exhausted from the events of two long day, was asleep beside his grandmother, his thumb gently in his mouth. She kept an arm around him, gently brushing his hair from his forehead as he slept. The nurse had given Olivia a sour look when she'd been in to kick the team out, but Olivia wasn't about to budge. She would have her grandson beside her no matter what some nurse had to say.

"So what are you going to do now?" Tim asked.

"Well, I was planning to sell the store and retire anyway. I guess it'll just be happening a bit sooner than expected."

"Have any idea what you'll be doing with your life?"

She shrugged. "I'll be a grandmother, I guess." She looked to Riley with a smile. "That's the best kind of job to have."

"You didn't do anything wrong."

"I'm sorry?"

"Yesterday you were telling me maybe you coddled him a bit more than you should have, but you didn't. I think you did exactly what you could in the situation."

"Thank you, Agent McGee. It's comforting to hear that. I just wish he wasn't so timid, so scared."

"He's seven-years-old and he's been through a lot. He'll grow out of it. I did."

Olivia raised an eyebrow. "I want to say I'm surprised, but I'm not."

"Surprised?"

"That you were a timid child. I don't mean that to sound like an insult. I know you're very competent now and you put your life on the line for Riley, so I know you're brave. But sometimes when I look at you I see a little bit of Riley in there. I see a little bit of Randy, too," she added upon reflection. "I imagine if he had lived, he would have been a lot like you."

"What did he do?"

"He wrote a small sports column in the paper."

Tim chuckled. "Not exactly my line of work."

"Maybe not, but he definitely had your heart and your caring. I know if he were alive today, he'd never let anything happen to Riley."

As if he knew they were talking about him, Riley stirred slightly, nestling himself against Olivia even further. She smiled and kissed him atop the head. "Agent McGee—"

"You can call me Tim."

"Tim, I'd like to speak to you about something that is a little uncomfortable for me. This ordeal has made me face my mortality, so to speak. Of course I knew I would die one day, I just liked to tell myself it would be later rather than sooner. I suppose this has sped things up."

"Mrs. Jenkins, you have plenty of time left."

She smiled sadly. "I hope I live long enough to see him married and with a family of his own, though I'll consider myself lucky if I'm able to see him graduate high school. If I don't, though, I'd like to know that you'll be a part of Riley's life."

Tim didn't quite know what to say, partly because he didn't know just what she was asking of him. "I'm flattered, Mrs. Jenkins, but I don't know that I could raise him."

"Of course not. I've already assigned a guardian. I wouldn't ask that much of you. I only meant if you could be a mentor to him, maybe check in once in a while, see that he's growing into the young man I know he can be, I would appreciate it."

"Well, I was hoping I could do that even if you don't…you know…die," he said. "Are you planning to keep him in the scouts?"

"I'm not sure. What do you think?"

A day earlier, Tim probably would have gently suggested that the boy scouts weren't for Riley, that he may find better comfort in some other extracurricular activity. But now…well, he could see Riley being in the scouts. He could see it being good for him in the long run.

"I think you should ask him what he wants," Tim said. "If he's still interested, I think the scouts would love to have him."

"And you'd be there with him?"

"I'd be with him every step of the way." And he meant it. Despite his recent thoughts of leaving the scouts, this ordeal had given him a new sense of love for what he did with his troop and the realization that sometimes he really could make a difference in these boys' lives.

"You promise?"

Tim smiled and feebly lifted three fingers. "Scout's honor."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Thank you all for reading!


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